


Right From The Beginning

by Daniela_is_not_amused



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, Alternate Universe - Human, Angst and Feels, Childhood Friends, Guilt, Heartbreak, I Will Go Down With This Ship, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, One-Sided Relationship, Sad, Sad Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Sad Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Sad Ending, The Author Regrets Nothing, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-01-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:00:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22121464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daniela_is_not_amused/pseuds/Daniela_is_not_amused
Summary: All I had to do though, was say the words, and I know you would've stayed. For me. Because, when I think about it now, everything you did then was for me.
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, one sided relationship - Relationship
Comments: 6
Kudos: 19





	Right From The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> English is not my first language. Not beta-read. All mistakes are mine.
> 
> Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.

We were an unlikely pair right from the start. You were blond, tall for your age, and you had that devastating cute smile that melted all the adults and conquered all the other kids. I was short, scrawny, and shy. You could be friends with anyone you wanted. The first day of school, I tried so desperately hard not to be noticed.

"That's my seat."

Those were the first words you ever said to me, on the second day of school. After recess, I'd come in and sat down in the wrong row. Kindergarten can be hard at the beginning.

By the next week, we were best friends like only five-year-olds can be. 

"My mom's taking me to the park after school, wanna come?" It's strange, the things that held us together when we were kids, so pointless and mundane. But we grew up and stayed best friends, managed to find other things to share even though we had nothing in common.

You watched all the TV shows my parents never let me watch, listened to all the music I found overly romantic and dry. You became dashing, smart, athletic. You had a date to every school dance. I only ever went once, that time in eighth grade when Matthew Broen asked me to the winter formal. You were the main lead in all the school’s plays, school newspaper, yearbook committee. I was the guy who was too shy to sign up for anything.

Still, you made me feel like I was important, like someone needed me. "Help me with this, Virge. I'm no good at trigonometry." And so high school for us was study sessions, and class projects where I did the writing and you did the talking. But it was also trips to the mall and to the movies, going to the beach in the summertime, and playing in the snow at Christmas.

Then there was graduation, after which you were supposed to go to some fancy university on the other side of the world and I was stuck with the local college. But you decided you wanted to stay here, with me, and I nearly cried myself to death that day, because no one's ever wanted that before.

That was the best summer we ever had. That was the summer we traveled to New York, where I went with you to all the stores you just had to visit, and you went with me to all the museums I thought were just fascinating. We ate ice cream and walked through Times Square, stood atop the Empire State Building and you held my hand because I was afraid of heights. That was the summer we painted your room a different colour on each wall, and while we were cleaning it out, we went through all the memories of us you had stored in your closet: pictures, birthday cards, worn out Christmas gifts. Something special happened that summer, but I guess it was a lot more special to you, because my world came to a crashing halt one night in late August.

"I'm in love with you, Virge."

"What?"

"I love you."

"You can't."

But then you kissed me, and I guess that was the day we stopped being friends, although neither of us ever did find the courage to say that out loud. So for four long months afterwards, we tried to pretend. Or at least, you did. I know you just wanted to make everything right again. And I know, if you could go back and do it all over again, you'd change it in a heartbeat.

So you showed up the next day, and you laughed and talked like nothing had happened. You smiled, and tried so very hard to be nice to me, to make me forget, but all I could do was stand and stare. All I could do was close the door and tell you to go away.

"I don't feel well. I'm going back to bed."

"Do you want me to stay with you?"

"No."

But you came back the day after, and no matter how much I tried to think otherwise, things were different, uncomfortable. It was like one day had changed us so much that we didn't know each other anymore. You left before noon that day.

I never saw you again that summer, not until the semester started and we had to see each other every day in class. It seemed that going to the same college wasn't so important anymore. The week I stopped answering the phone was the same one you stopped sitting next to me. I guess I just couldn't stand the sad looks and the pain in your voice, the downcast eyes and the fidgeting hands. By then it was already Thanksgiving, and that was the first year we didn't spend the holiday weekend together.

And before I knew it, we never talked anymore, not beyond hello and goodbye. Then all of a sudden, it was Christmas Eve and you were standing in my doorway. It was snowing, and I could see your breath drifting up towards the porch light. I was shivering, holding the door open, but I didn't invite you in, and you never asked. You had a backpack over your shoulder, a plane ticket sticking out of your pocket, and you thrust a slip of paper at me as I struggled to find the words.

"Goodbye Virge. I'm going to England."

"Why?"

"Because... everything, nothing. It doesn't matter. I'm sorry."

"How long will you be gone?"

"I don't know. Maybe… I don't know."

All I had to do though, was say the words, and I know you would've stayed. For me. Because, when I think about it now, everything you did then was for me. I remember that time in third grade, when you kicked Dolian Wood in the groin because he pushed me into the schoolyard fence and I cut my face open. You were suspended for that. I remember telling you I didn't want to go to the senior prom, and you spent the night with me, even though you'd already bought tickets and picked out a suit. We sat on the hill behind the train station instead, and watched the summer constellations spin overhead. I remember all the stupid little things you used to do for me without hesitation, and I know I really miss you. But the day you went away, I was silent as I watched you run down the steps and into your waiting taxi. There were no smiles and no waves. And you never did look back at me, even though I couldn't make myself close the door until the taillights were gone in the snow.

I also couldn't find the courage the open that piece of paper you handed me. It sat on my desk for more than two years before I unfolded it in the middle of the night on Valentine's Day because I couldn't sleep. I guess I was afraid it would be some sort of sappy love letter, and I couldn't deal with that. I should have known you weren't like that. It was the name of an English university, a mailing address, and a phone number. Simple, perfect. Just like you.

That same night, I also opened the birthday cards you sent me the last two years, the ones I never read and couldn't bear to throw away. The ones you sent to my parents' house even though I didn't live there anymore. They were simple cards, with flowers in lush fields or sunrises in radiant blue skies. "To a friend," they both said, and inside, all you wrote was "Happy Birthday, Virgil." Then there was your name at the bottom, above the date, and nothing more.

I stayed up and tried to write you a letter that night, but ripped it to shreds because I hated the way it sounded. Instead, I ran out the next morning and bought you a birthday card, three months in advance. I stood in the gift shop, glossing over all the cards that read "to a special someone", and I almost cried when I opened one that said "friends forever". Of course, I ended up with a card just like the ones you sent me, something safe, a flock of birds over a lake. And of course, I wrote the exact same thing you wrote, only with the names transposed. Then I scrawled "I'm sorry" inside and sealed it in an envelope.

The card waited on my desk for weeks on end, while I searched for a reason to send it. Twice, I put in the trash but dug it back out before the day was over. Eventually, your birthday came, and I finally sent it the day of, knowing you'd get it late but wouldn't care if you were anything like you used to be.

Two weeks later I got a postcard featuring Buckingham Palace, and on the back was your careful lettering. "I'm sorry too, Virgil." Then there was a date and time, a flight number, and again the phone number. I almost called you right away that day, but I realized it was past midnight in England. Or at least, that's what I told myself when I set down the phone after dialing only the first two digits. I never did try calling again.

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is appreciated


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